Free Miranda's Dilemma by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

tasted of lemonade as well.
    He put his free hand to the back of her head, threaded it into the cascade of dark-chestnut curls and concentrated on returning her kiss.
    Moments passed. The steady open and close of Miss Garret’s hand on his erection did much to alleviate his distaste for the sour citrus. As did the feel of Miss Garret’s breast against his palm. And the feel of Miss Caster pressing her body against his back, her lips on his neck.
    “Well, well, well…”
    The soft, faintly amused voice made him freeze.
    He jerked his mouth away from Miss Caster and stared, slightly dazed, into icy, pale green eyes. Though he sat in the shadow, the lamplight made Miss Jones’ flawlessly lovely face glow, and fiery highlights shone in her luxuriant spill of ringlets. Her dark crimson gown sparkled with beaded crystals, just like everything she wore.
    She sparkled, no matter what she wore.
    “Lord Danvers is currently occupied,” Miss Caster said indignantly.
    “I can see that.” There was no mistaking the laughter in Miss Jones’ voice, and her attention was fixed at Adrian’s lap where Miss Garret continued to caress him.
    He took hold of Miss Garret’s wrist and pulled her hand away.
    But that rather compounded the problem for it revealed the throbbing swell between his legs.
    Miss Jones laughed, her voice soft yet holding an edge of cruelty. “I see what you meant about the certain level of deportment required by ladies at your parties.”
    He was doing nothing wrong. Yet, he felt like a small boy, caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Indignation swept through him.
    Her eyes laughed at him. Her lush red mouth twitched.
    Damn it all!
    He stood. Now he could glower down at her. And he did.
    Her eyes hardened.
    Such dislike there. It took his breath. “I understand that the Duke of Froster left,” he said.
    “So he did.” She did not seem concerned.
    That puzzled him.
    Had he, Dorothy and Cassandra Jones all misjudged her interest in Froster? He frowned. “I thought you had come here to…”
    “Urgent business called Froster home. No matter. I am not tied to any one gentleman.”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “No…” Her voice trailed off as she scanned the card room, slowly, purposely.  “I am bored lately. I do believe a change would do me good.”
    Who? He had to clamp his jaw to keep himself from asking. Whom did she have her sights on?
    His heart beat had quickened, the same way it would react to any threat to his claim.
    But he had no claim on her.
    He should desire no claim on her.
    Yet, he did.
    Desperately.
    She rolled one shoulder. “Any gentleman is much the same as another.”
    Her pale green gaze pierced him.
    Pinned him.
    “You know my lord, there is something so pleasing about a gentleman who has reached thirty but has not yet attained his fiftieth year.” She paused, whilst drawing her fingertips across the glittering jets on her bodice.
    Her gesture drew his attention to the pale, twin swells of her breasts.
    No woman had breasts as gorgeous as hers.
    No woman.
    His cock surged with lust. All that earlier stimulation from Miss Garret had not provoked even a tenth of that much fire.
    Or at least it felt that way to him.
    “A gentleman of that age knows how to please a woman far better than a young man who may be all too…” She flicked a glance down at his fall. “All too prone to react too quickly.”
    Under her gaze, his cock went hard as iron.
    It grew thicker, longer. Straining against his fall. Aching. He suppressed a grimace.
    She returned her gaze to his.
    Cold, how could she possibly give such soul-freezing glares when her very presence lit his blood on fire?
    “How old did you say you were, my lord?”
    He was just short of turning twenty-nine, yet he saw no point in gratifying her by answering. Instead, he drew on his icy reserve, glaring down his nose at her. “Miss Jones, I would like to remind you that you are here solely because I allowed it.”
    “Yes, I know. I was